Chapter 14

I started staying at my Dad’s on a regular basis. Most Saturday’s he’d pick me up in his big yellow van, strangely enough from the house we used to live in when he and my Mum were together, because we’d moved there with Chris when I was ten. Life carried on seeming good for a while. I was once more next door to Alex, a friend I’d known since I was tiny and who I’d grown up with since about the age of two. All my school friends lived near by and because it was a nice area, a quiet estate, I was free to play outside without my Mum worrying too much.

Alex and I spent a lot of time together again, with water fights in the summer, watching films when it was cold, playing truth or dare at our friend Jessica’s house which was on the other side of the conifer bush at the end of my back garden. We’d ride our bikes around the block, go rollerblading - seeing who could be the bravest and make it down the biggest hill without falling head over feet! I was a child again and I loved it!

I remember one time, Alex bought one of his toys out to me - it was a red metal gun type thing and I must admit it did unnerve me at first - that was until he showed me what it was and then I was in fits of giggles. A spud gun! What you had to do was pierce a potato with it and pull the trigger - simple and yet totally fantastic! It made a popping sound and you could feel the pressure on the trigger as the little potato pellet went flying into thin air. I HAD to have one! I begged and pleaded with my Mum and after about a week she finally gave in and bought me one from “Everything’s a Pound�?in town. I was ecstatic - however, I don’t think my Mum was too pleased when all her potatoes started to go missing!

Dales Avenue was the perfect place to grow up! My Auntie Sue still lived in the same bungalow as well which meant we saw her more often and I’d just finished my SATS at junior school with two level fives and a level six in English so I was soon going to be moving up to Secondary School. The best thing about the SATS exams was the fact that at the end of each practice exam and the real thing you got a sweet on your way out!

I did love my school so much though and was heartbroken to be leaving. Me and my friends did nothing but cry on the last day. We spent our last lunch time with a group of infant children we’d made friends with the year before. They liked us because we played “Farmer in his Den�?with them and held their hands at break times. I was really fond of one of the little girls, Hayley her name was - she was so pretty and had long brown hair with the brownest of eyes. As we walked round the classrooms during the afternoon with our signed t-shirts and streaky faces, she came running up to me and threw her arms round me, sobbing.

The teachers I would miss was an endless list - Mrs Pain, my favourite teacher in Nursery, Mrs Roberts, my complete and utter saviour, Mrs Naylor, the lady who ran school choir and the dinner lady, Mrs Clarke who I used to link arms with and keep company on duty, come rain or shine.

Everything was going to change - friends, responsibilities, lessons, homework�?It was a daunting prospect and I was completely terrified with the idea, but at the same time there was a pang of excitement in my stomach.

The Summer that year was a hectic one, involving endless trips to Partners for a new pencil case, pens, pencils, a ruler, rubber, scientific calculator and any other piece of stationery that popped into my head. Then there was the school uniform to buy - which was completely different to anything I’d ever worn before. Black trousers, white shirt, grey jumper, a “Quarrydale School�?tie (dark green with a blue diagonal stripe outlined in gold) and finally to top it all off there was a black blazer. I felt more like I was shopping to go to a business conference than school!

Nevertheless September 1999 soon came round and it was time to face the music! I remember my first day like it was yesterday. My best friend Sarah was going to Quarrydale too so I went to her house that morning and we walked to school together. We had our photo taken in her dining room, both looking ready to go and yet absolutely petrified! I’ve never put so much effort into faking a “I’m-happy-non-nervous�?smile in my life!

It had been agreed that everyone would meet in the main hall. What a drab looking place it was, with wooden floors, an ancient main stage with dark blue curtains and brown plastic chairs which looked older than me. Still, I had to get used to it very quickly since this would be the home of my education for the next five years and we would spend quite a bit of time in there for assembly.

I looked around the room every so often to see the seats slowly filling up, the teenage banter becoming louder and louder every five minutes as someone new walked in and someone else realised that they used to go to school with or knew that same person. My heart thumped and the palms of my hands were clammy. There were plenty of people I recognised too but they were outnumbered by the people I didn’t know.

A tall man in a grey suit and tie with matching grey hair, beard and moustache made his way to the front of the hall. He introduced himself as Mr Flintam - he was the head teacher. He seemed like a nice enough man and although he looked like the classical headmaster, I couldn’t have imagined him stood with a cane giving a naughty pupil’s hand a lashing!

He told us about the school and the plans that had been put in place for the rest of the day. It was all very exhilarating. Timetables to arrange, people to meet, homework diaries and books to sort - it was going to be a busy few hours!

My stomach rumbled, I was nervous. I glanced around the room and at the back of the hall there was a line of men and women. A small woman with blonde hair and glasses in a white shirt was on one end, I noticed her because she looked pretty but in a strange sort of way. Another person caught my eye, I stared straight at a man who was stood right in the centre of that line. He was very tall, large, with a bald head and glasses. He looked frightening on first glance so I turned back round to face the front.

I had to tune my hearing back into what was being said, it took a couple of seconds to refocus on the deep voice which echoed within the ancient, white stone walls.

“The people stood at the back of the hall are your tutors. You will register with them every morning before you start lessons and every afternoon when lunch break has ended.�?/P>

All 200 heads turned to face the back of the room.

“Would you like to introduce yourselves?�?He asked them with a smile in his voice.

One by one they said their names and told us a bit about themselves. I soon learnt that the man I had glared at before was called Mr Slack. Little did I know, he would be my tutor for the next five years and the judgement I had of him back then would be completely wrong five years down the line.

7Y was my tutor group - each one was a different letter of “Quarrydale�?which followed the number of the year you were in. Laura was in year 10 and Carla was in year 9 by now.

I was glad because there were quite a few people in my tutor who I’d been to my previous school with - even Sarah, which was a huge relief. We were all organised into our groups and Mr Slack came over to check that all the names on his list matched those of the thirty-odd faces in front of him who he was going to see nearly every day for a very long time!

It was absolute chaos! The noise and excitement had doubled since before! I couldn’t wait to get out of there and luckily we didn’t have to wait too long!

“Right, lets go!�?Mr Slack said, closing his register and clipping his pen back into the top pocket of his shirt.

Everyone stood up and followed. As soon as we were out of the hall I began trying to take everything in around me and asking myself how on earth I would remember where I was going. The place looked absolutely huge compared to the small school I’d just come from.

After walking across a court yard and into a separate building, through an open area full of tables and chairs and down a corridor, Mr Slack stopped at a room and pulled a key out of his pocket. Two sides of that room were covered in big windows - which is where it got its name from, it was apparently known as “The Fish Bowl�? The tables were in 5 or 6 long rows facing the teacher’s desk at the front, which again would be different to what I was used to.

We filed into the room and as soon as we got through the door each person scrambled to sit with someone who they knew or liked the look of. Of course, Sarah and I sat together on the front row, both full of excitement, disbelief and complete terror.

A girl came and sat at the other side of me. She was shorter than me, not much, just a couple of inches and she had long dark hair which came half way down her back. I didn’t say anything at first, just sat there fiddling with my Pepsi can pencil case that I’d already drawn all over even though I’d only had it for about a fortnight.

I was shy when it came to meeting new people; especially when there were so many of them. I reached the conclusion that if people wanted to speak to me then they’d make the first move. It was easier that way because if someone wanted to make the effort then it was a nice feeling, if they didn’t then I knew that I wasn’t missing out on much anyway.

Mr Slack made his way round the room as everyone else gossiped about everyone else, got to know each other and generally just made noise. He handed each one of us a green book with a shiny cover which said “Quarrydale School Homework Diary�?on it with a picture of the school badge in the middle. I flicked through the pages, knowing they’d be empty, but so intrigued because I’d never had one before - at least not as posh as this anyway!

“Right,�?Mr Slack announced as he reappeared at the front of the room, “these are your homework diaries, obviously!�?With that the whole class laughed, almost as if on cue, “you will use these to record the homework you are given, again obviously! And it’ll need to be signed by your parents once a week. Got that?�?/P>

Some nodded, some said yes.

“Then, I’ll need to sign it once a week. Make sure you remember, or else!�?/P>

I think we were in our tutor group for most of the morning, sorting out lesson plans and various other bits and pieces. He told us about “commendations�?- you were given a yellow card with boxes on it and if you did really well at something, teachers could give you commendations and had to sign the box with the date. For every 10 commendations you were given a certificate. If you received 100 you were given a reward of some sort.

Along with those came the “E.F.L�?slips which stood for “Equipped for Learning�? Basically every time you forgot something you needed for a lesson or a part of your uniform, you were given a piece of paper as a reminder that you’d forgotten it (quite pointless really!) and this would be kept on record. If you managed to go for a certain amount of time without getting an E.F.L you were given a certificate.

Mr Slack did the register properly this time, marking everybody present.

I listened as he called the names out one by one, counting them in my head�?4.�?.�?

“Emma Bell?�?He asked

“Yes sir.�?/P>

I suddenly realised that the girl who answered was the one sat next to me. How much of a coincidence was that?! Two Emma’s in the same tutor group, sat next to each other!

From that moment on we chatted and became friends. She had a best friend too, called Katie, a plump blonde haired girl. She was nothing particularly good to look at and the more I got to know her, the more I disliked her. I began to recognize that she treated Emma very much like a lapdog, expected her to do everything for her and when she couldn’t get her own way, that was it. She was snappy, bitchy and she could generally say some rather nasty things. I think the best way to describe her would be a spoiled little brat!

I remember one lunchtime, not too long into the school year, Sarah and I were walking back from the sandwich hall (where we ate lunch) and we saw Emma and Katie sitting outside in the courtyard. We said hi, as always, asked about one another’s day and Katie snapped at Emma for some reason, completely out of the blue. Now, I’d watched this for maybe six months or more and managed to keep my mouth shut but this time I just couldn’t. I was absolutely furious! I didn’t lose my temper or anything, just asked why the hell she was speaking to Emma in that tone of voice and why she thought she had the right to be so horrible to her so-called “best friend�?

It’s safe to say from that day on she didn’t like me much. She’d go through phases of being nice when it suited her and being an utter bitch when it didn’t but I never lost anything from it. If anything it bought me and Emma closer together.

From the very beginning my favourite lesson was English. My first teacher was wonderful. Her name was Mrs Gregory and she was an older teacher with a gentle voice, but like most she could shout if needed be - and I soon learned that with my class, that was most of the time. As a whole we had good days and bad days - on the good days everyone behaved, tried to crack on with their work and did as they were asked, on the bad days they did the complete opposite!

English was split up into three different lessons, which gave us a varied schedule. We had library time, where we could chose a book and read (or in most people’s case, do nothing throughout the entire lesson), drama, which was always great fun and then the normal classroom English. Although I liked them all, I preferred the “sit down and do this�?English because it was always a mixture of reading and writing so I couldn’t go wrong.

I was in my element when I was in English. Pity I couldn’t say that about Maths and Science though! Science was definitely the worst and the elements of that subject did nothing but confuse me. I just couldn’t fathom out all the chemical names and what mixed with what and which ones would cause an explosion. So, in a science lab I was pretty much a lethal weapon! The same stood for maths, equations baffled me, but when I did understand something it felt like an achievement which could just about match up to climbing Mount Everest!

It was great because we were taught in our tutor groups too, which meant I was with Sarah and Emma for every lesson. There weren’t many people I didn’t get along with either, apart from a small handful who generally didn’t have the intellect to string a conversation together that didn’t involve makeup or boys. That didn’t bother me though.

Finding your way round the place wasn’t easy though. It was absolutely massive as I had first seen on my induction day. We did have a copy of our timetables each, which told you the lesson, what time it started, the teacher and where you were meant to be. The thing is, it didn’t really help much because there was no map! I think I must have lost count of the number of times I was late within the first couple of weeks, because even asking for directions was a bad choice due to the fact that I couldn’t follow them either!

We did have another set of exams that year too, which I didn’t expect. They were called CATS (similar to SATS) and were used to assess the level you were at on leaving your last school and to predict the grades you may be able to achieve at GCSE level. As always, I was petrified because I hated being tested - it felt almost as scary as confrontation. The fact that it was a multiple choice test didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking either! We didn’t get the results of those tests till many years later and to be perfectly honest, when I found out my own scores and predictions, I had to sit down.

Although there were some lessons I didn’t particularly enjoy, I threw myself into them because I liked all my teachers (even the ones who seemed pretty frightening to begin with) and I liked to be challenged. I was one of the people in school who did their homework, tried with class work, answered questions in lessons. It gave me a slight sense of pride when I knew I’d done something right and after all that’s what school was all about. The work soon paid off, even in science I could get B’s for pieces of work I’d done, which was a shock. The bottom line was, I always tried, because Chris has always taught me that trying is the only thing people can ask of you. If you get something wrong, it can be put right, if you don’t try, there’s nothing to work with or any effort to appreciate.

Art was a subject which caused many rows in my house over the years, the first year probably being the worst. I just could not grasp the knack of it. I was a pretty rubbish drawer, blending and shading didn’t come naturally and the proportion of objects and people just never was in proportion on my page. No matter how hard I tried, faces didn’t look real, bottles didn’t look like glass, black never faded to white without being in blocks. It was useless.

There were times where I would have homework for that lesson and my temper would be pushed over its limits onto the boarder of infinity because I just got so frustrated with it. I was a kid again. My pencil case would be thrown across the room, paper ripped up, screwed and thrown at the wall where my pencil case would have usually just landed moments before! I detested it on a bad day, but on a good day, when I thought I’d done something worthwhile it didn’t half make me smile! Only, most of the time, having a “D -�?in blank ink with a massive circle round it in the corner of your book kinda took the glory away. Art was NOT my thing! My teacher was patient with everyone if you had a go, but I despised him for the simple reason that he made everything look so bloody easy! He was a great man nonetheless - another one of our year’s tutors, so we saw him quite a lot outside of his lesson too.

Food technology was a different kettle of fish! I adored that lesson with a passion. Food was food - who couldn’t love it? I thought the world of my teacher too, Miss Key. She was an average sized lady who I‘d say was roughly in her forties, with short blonde hair which people used to say looked as though had been cut whilst she had a mixing bowl on her head because it just went all the way round in the same length, (which I thought was cruel), glasses and her cheeks were always blushed. People also used to say that she did nothing but moan and should be in the army because of her set ways of doing things, but I got on really well with her and continued to do so all the way through school. She could shout - hell could she shout, but what people never understood was the fact that she usually had a reason to. Sometimes lessons could be horrendous though, which was again due to our classes behaviour, but I have a lot of respect for that lady because of her knowledge and the respect she showed me.

There wasn’t any aspect of the hourly lessons that I didn’t enjoy - even the theory part of it was interesting, but getting your hands dirty was always the best bit! The first task ever was to cook something using the hob and the grill. Simple for most people. One of the girls in my class from the “popular lot�?as we called them, (and this will prove a point with what I have said about the girls who only talked about make up and boys) actually asked if you could cook beans under the grill! I was in stitches with laughing! Me and my group of friends didn’t forget that all the way through school. Then again, I can’t really comment because I cooked soup and toast - but hey, I enjoyed it when we were allowed to eat our snack at the end of the lesson!

Year seven at secondary school was pretty much a time to get settled in and get to know people, there really was nothing particularly difficult about it to be honest - but I only think that now because I’m looking back, at the time it seemed like a huge thing because we were “growing up�?and no longer in junior school. I liked it. It was new, it was fresh and it was the beginning of me - the me who had to work hard, be organised and do everything for myself. From day one I had the intention of going in there and passing my exams, because even then I had the desire, a massive desire, to be more than just good and I was well aware that no one else could do that for me. It was my time to learn, not just about books, history, cooking, about life.

(C) 2007 - EJJ